“Eight guards,” I call out. I smirk at the waterwielder, cruel and sharp. “I’ve seen you feral,wife. Two men won’t stop you from getting your hands on me.” I level a glare at the captain’s father. “And if I get loose? This entire camp won’t stop me from getting my hands on her.”
Pain erupts across my face as one of the warriors backhands me. Spit and blood arc through the air, but I keep smirking.
Sorka mutters under his breath, face reddened with rage. I can’t hear him, but I strongly suspect he’s cursing my lineage.
But in the end, he assigns eight guards to her tent.
The other woman ushers the flushed waterwielder inside, then emerges a few minutes later and hurries off toward another tent. At the edge of the clearing, Sorka murmurs quietly with three warriors, their contemptuous eyes cutting to me every few minutes.
I don’t give a damn what they’re planning to do to me.
My focus is on the waterwielder’s tent and the eight men flanking the entrance. She’s in there alone. The general is distracted. Any one of them could sneak inside and—
The other woman rushes back with a large bottle in her hands. The amber liquid glints in the firelight as she disappears into the tent.
Valerian root.
A whisper of relief cascades down my spine.
It doesn’t last long. The captain and the other men seem to have finished their discussion. Two of the warriors climb the stairs to the platform where I’m bound.
The men are tall and heavily muscled—and vibrating with anticipation.
A meaty fist cracks into the side of my face.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Bloodstreamsfrommoreplaces than I care to count.
The two men are relentless—they’re not even questioning me. The past hour has been pure punishment and nothing else. Fists and kicks rain down like a vengeful storm on my face, throat, chest.
A knee jammed into my ribs.
A hard punch to my kidneys.
A brutal uppercut to my jaw.
One eye is swollen shut, but I keep the other one stubbornly fixed on the waterwielder’s tent and the men surrounding it.
“Arbinji scum,” the warrior snarls, his scarred upper lip curling with disgust. There’s a muffledcrackas he hauls back and punches me. Skiesdamned ass. He broke another rib. I can’t contain a grunt of pain, and the bastard smirks.
“Enough,” the general’s voice calls out. Sorka slowly ascends the steps, standing beside the men. His hands are clasped behind his back, cool blue eyes assessing the damage his men wrought. His face is unreadable—I can’t discern if he’s pleased or disappointed with their efforts. “Search him.”
The scarred warrior steps forward and cuts away my tunic, his dagger scraping painfully against my chest.
“At least buy me dinner first,” I rasp with a grin. He jabs his elbow into my throat, and each hacking cough that follows sends shockwaves of pain through my broken ribs.
In my left pocket, Scar Lip finds the waterwielder’s necklace. I grit my teeth at the sight of it in his grasp before he hands it to the general.
My body aches with pain, but I’m ready to tear out his throat with my teeth as he moves to my other pocket. His hot breath fans across my face as his fingers reach in, searching. I snarl in his face, and he fucking snickers.
He delves deeper. Another few seconds and he’ll find Mayah’s—thewaterwielder’s—betrothal ring.
I slam my forehead into his nose with a loud crack.The burly man staggers backward, swearing colorfully as he stems the flow of blood with his hand.
“Fucking bastard,” he spits. His partner stomps sideways on my ankle. Pain erupts as the bone shatters, but it was worth it. The man spits at my feet before joining Sorka and the other brute as they descend the platform.
I pretend I don’t know why I couldn’t bear to lose her ring.
